Who toiled for the ones he loved so well,
In the wilds of the far Socatean.
He’d fingered each as he studied the names
And sorted the letters with kindly care;
While with honest heart of a friend he guessed
At the news that the precious notes might
hear.
There was one for Kane, and the last had said
That his little girl was sorely ill—
Poor man, he had worried the whole long week!